if the world's edge was a rainflower field
by Ceyrai
Summary: Rivetra. From the beginning to the bitter end, it was Levi and Petra. / A Levi x Petra origins story.
1. Levi

**Ceyrai Says: **This is my first shot at an SnK/AoT fanfic, and I haven't read much of the manga (except the first few and last few chapters, and excerpts of _that_ chapter because they're all over the Rivetra tag, since I want to enjoy the anime experience), so please bear with me if there are mistakes.

I also never intended to make a Levi origins story, but if I wanted to set up Rivetra from the very beginning, I suppose this was the only way to properly do it. Funny thing is, I've never read a proper Levi origins story (actually, I've only ever read Rivetra or SnK crossover fics), so I don't know the popular theories of the fandom besides the underground thing (which is just a rumor in canon), and that he's around 34 years old.

I just wanted to get Rivetra out of my head, okay? The feels have been simmering in my gut, poking at me incessantly coz they want out.

_General Notes:_  
_Pair:_ Levi x Petra.  
_Universe:_ Slightly AU i.e. mostly canon crossed with a bit of my headcanon.  
_Warnings:_ Again, this was written with my headcanon in mind, so there might be some small deviations from canon/almost-canon fanon. (That was a lot of –ons in one sentence.) I'll explain again in my Post-Chapter Notes. Possibly some OOCness, since I'm not entirely sure about my characterization of either character. Don't hesitate to tell me though.  
_Disclaimer:_ For all the chapters thereafter – I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan, nor any other copyrighted items mentioned.

_Pre-Chapter Notes: _I ripped off a pharmacology book. No, really.

* * *

**if the world's edge was a rainflower field**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Levi  
**_he was just a stain on mankind's history_

* * *

Levi, at twelve years old, found plenty enough reasons to be clean, even living in the rat's hole that was the Hermiha District's Outer Row, where outcasts were all shunted to. Being clean meant he could sneak into the Middle Row, a more moneyed area, and look like every other random brat tottering off to school to learn things he considered quite useless. It meant that if a wad of cash or a few meat pies went missing from the bakery counter, the first one the proprietors would accuse will be the smear-faced urchin a good distance from himself, the clean-cut kid who had the loot under his coat, casually escaping the scene.

In his profession (if one could call it that), even the judgmental knee-jerk reactions of his "customers" could be weapons.

(And he had quickly learned to ignore the slight pang in his chest whenever he heard the pitiful shrieks of the day's scapegoat being beaten to a pulp. What was that, compared to the pain of constant hunger, gnawing through his gut and heart and brain?)

Apart from the advantage it gave him over the other little crooks he had to compete with, being clean was the only other feeling besides having something warm in his stomach that completely satisfied him. But it was an effort to be clean when one lived in a makeshift shanty in the roughest neighborhood of Hermiha. It was part of the reason he had developed the ability to sneak into the better Outer Row houses and public baths (even a Middle Row house once in a while, if he was feeling lucky) to have a quick scrub, and slip out undetected. Scaling walls and being light-footed soon became second nature to him (along with, oddly enough, knowing how to finish washing his clothes before the homeowners woke up from their night's sleep).

The petty stealing rose from intolerable hunger, and Levi honestly hadn't known where he was going with all that. All of his energy and his talent went to his will to survive. A brat without even a family name, let alone a proper education, had no business having ambitions.

Except.

It was a completely different, more painful pang to watch the Recon Corps march across town through Main Street, looking grim and brave with such purpose and determination set in their brow. He had never seen one, but if there was one thing any child – rich or poor – knew, is that the Titans were mankind's greatest enemies, and that the Recon Corps of the Military was their only hope of fighting back. These men and women with their complicated looking gear and forest-green coats were warriors, far from the near-helpless kid that he was.

They fought against fate in a way that he never could.

So when they rode through town with the pomp and circumstance accorded to heroes, he avoided the streets in which they would pass. He didn't want to be pining over a dream like that when he could be focusing his brainpower on his next attempt to acquire food.

It was only a matter of time when his skills in thievery reached the ears of an enterprising group of youths who were looking for a talented recruit to add to their ranks. At first, he was skeptical – he didn't want to be sharing his loot to anyone else, especially if they couldn't pull their own weight. He also didn't like the idea of being surrounded by dirty, snot-nosed little nuisances 24/7 as he was never sociable to begin with. Still, gang wars disrupted life in the Outer Row (and with that, his work) every so often, and he soon realized it was better to stick with a group than be caught in a fight for territory by his lonesome.

It did not become apparent to him right away that mere organized robbery was only the tip of the iceberg in his new niche. It started like that well enough – for the first time, Levi was working with strategies that involved distractions and patterned escape routes and hand signals. It was also the first time he had ever been part of an operation big enough to assure himself food for a week. He had enough self-control not to show it, but the exhilaration he felt – at how easy working became or at the spoils he had received, he didn't really know –was very unlike the usual relief he felt after narrowly escaping once again.

He never saw a reason to get close with the rest of the group, but communicating with them was useful in its own way – it was with them that he learned his first proper fistfighting techniques. The older boys and even some of the girls were harsh teachers, jeering and making rude comments every time one of them wiped the dirt with his face. He had seethed in short-lived anger – _Are "neat freak" and "prissy shit eater" the best these fuckers can do?_ – but that was fine, since he knew that the tables would turn soon enough. A year after being inducted into the gang, he had fought his way up to be somewhere important in the chain of command (though gangs like theirs did not really have a proper hierarchy anyway).

Being a person of value in the group meant more responsibilities as well. Part of their modus was to go on rounds for "donations" from Middle Row kids and even some easily coercible adults when it was wise to lie low. Levi never learned the art of sweet persuasion, but he supposed that his scowl was persuasive, if not sweet at all, enough to acquire them what they wanted.

There were plenty of things to do with a street gang besides earning, as Levi learned. At thirteen, he finished his first full bottle of cheap booze (an achievement crowned with bed rest for a couple of days). At fourteen, he slept with a girl for the first time – though that was mostly awkward groping, slobber, and a quick finish, for which said girl slapped him afterwards.

At fifteen, he knowingly killed for the first time.

He was sure he had killed before, but it was easier to sleep through the night when he could walk away before he could assess the damage, and not see life slowly draining from a person's eyes. He did not have that luxury this time – their teenage gang had been recruited by their adult counterparts to infiltrate the stronghold of the rival gang, and make a clean sweep of everyone in the vicinity. The risks were high, the punishments for failure harsh, but the rewards were sweet.

Levi spent most of his on booze, intent on erasing the image of the way the men he had twisted his knife into gurgled blood through their last breath, and the stench of copper and piss and shit that permeated through the entire place, which imprinted into his nostrils. The rest was spent on cleaning agents for the clothes he had bloodied, until he realized he could not wash the stains out completely and just bought a new set of clothes instead.

He knew it would not be the last time he would be asked to do such a thing, but what he did not realize was that the utter disgust (at the act, at the mess the act brought about, or at himself, he refused to know) he felt every time he killed would never fade, no matter how desensitized he thought he would become.

So for the next couple of years, he stole and blackmailed, fought and killed, boozed and slept around, which was standard fare for a criminal like him. And he hated every minute of it – hated every fiber of himself for falling this low. But to him, there was nothing more to life than this, considering his background. This was where a guy like him usually ended up.

And yet, in the quiet moments of the night when he wasn't dead drunk or recuperating from injuries, he could almost see before him that double-winged standard on the green field, fluttering just out of reach. And he would clench his fist, bury his face into his pillow, and try to convince himself that he was just not suited for that. No matter how clean he thought he physically was, he was just scum of the earth, a stain on mankind's history.

He was no hero.

* * *

Territorial fights between gangs, teenage or adult, erupted every so often in the Outer Row, but it was only recently that the delinquents started claiming hunting grounds in the Middle Row as well. Levi didn't care for the politics of it all, but if it interrupted his work routine, he didn't think there was anything wrong with bashing in another guy's skull just to reclaim their gang's zone.

A couple of nights of street fighting (that was moving closer to the residential section of the Middle Row) found the gangs marking out their claimed territories and chasing away possible interlopers. Several Middle Row shops and homes were locked down; their residents refusing to come out, or if that was unavoidable, arming themselves with batons or iron pokers and walking in tight groups. Tensions were running high and Levi knew in his bones that something big was going to happen that night. His blood thrummed under his skin in anticipation.

It was late afternoon before the third night of fighting, and he was lounging lazily on a boarded-up store's abandoned stoop, twirling his pocket knife between his fingers. Their gang was looking to acquire this street as a territory, due to its abundance in little family shops – easy targets with a high output – and they were sure to have rivals coming to challenge their ownership, such as it was. He was on lookout with a few others, but boredom and restlessness were catching up to him. He almost wished that the fighting would start to make things more interesting.

A flash of mint and strawberry blonde caught his eye just as the thought floated through his head.

He frowned when he saw a blonde girl in a green dress from the corner of his vision, all alone with only an umbrella for possible defense, and looking unaware of the less-than-savory looks the other members of his gang were giving her now that they had noticed her as well. She was standing still from across the street, staring at their group, her mouth slightly agape. _What exactly is she looking at?_

It was only when he turned his head to fully look at her that she broke her gaze. And then he realized she'd been staring at him, in particular.

He pocketed his knife and heaved himself off his high perch on the stoop with a grunt, landing lightly on the cobblestone. The others turned to look at him, as if to ask what was going on, but he shook his head and waved them off. A couple of them shrugged and settled back on lookout, while he strode towards the girl, who flinched back but did not run away.

Levi had not grown much in the vertical sense in the past few years – he supposed the lack of real nutrition had cut off what was supposed to be his growth spurt. That meant he was the shortest among the guys his age, and they never let him forget it. Thus it made him feel a little superior that he could look down at this particular girl, who looked about 9 or 10, as intimidatingly as he wanted.

"What do you think you're looking at."

She turned a bit pink as he confirmed that he knew she had been staring, gaze unwilling to meet his now. She twisted her umbrella's fabric in her hands, her lip quivering. Levi's eyebrow quirked. "I…" She met his grey eyes with her own amber ones as she tucked a stray lock of her long blonde hair behind her ear. "It's just… I thought… You looked kind of, um, cool up there, mister."

It was Levi's turn to stare when she averted her gaze in embarrassment. "…cool?"

The girl bobbed her head up and down frantically. "Y-yes! Like a cat!"

His brows knit closer together. "A cat," he repeated, completely thrown off. He had been called a bunch of things in the past – but most of those had been variants of "trash", "neat freak", or "fucking scary". "Cool like a cat" was something out of his field of experience altogether.

The girl seemed to have realized that she had said something odd, and quickly tried to amend it. "I m-mean! Not like, say, you're furry or cuddly, but you have… um, g-grace? I guess? Especially when you leapt off the stoop… t-though! I don't mean to imply anything weird – just, you're not awkward or rough, you're…"

"…graceful."

She nodded again, just once this time, earnest and assenting.

Levi's mind was drawing a blank. No one had cared enough to view him in that manner before, and he didn't have a response for that. He ran a hand through his hair, looking for something to say to the honey-eyed girl still waiting for a reply.

"Look kid," he sighed out, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Don't you think you should be home with your mom and dad right now?" He gave a sidelong glance to the bunch of delinquents still on the stoop. "It's not safe for a girl like you to be out and about."

"W-well, yes," she said, tucking back another lock of hair. "I suppose. But Father needs to have medicinal tea and liniment for his bad leg, since it's been a day since we ran out of both and I don't think he can hold on a bit longer, and our usual apothecary is on this street, so I-"

"I get it, I get it," Levi said, rolling his eyes heavenward. "What apothecary?"

"It's the one with the green sign on the right side of the- oh." She frowned. "It's closed. Oh dear."

She looked up at him in askance. He raised his eyebrow again. _You expecting me to do something about it?_

"What do I do now…?" she asked no one in particular, though Levi was sure it was at least partly directed at him. "…I came all this way, and Father can't stand with that leg, let alone work…"

"Try knocking," he suggested, not knowing why he even cared enough to. "If you tell them who you are they'll probably make an exception."

"I guess it's worth a try," the girl agreed. Levi watched her run down the street to a narrow two-story building that had its windows and doors closed like every other shop in the street. He turned back to his post just as she reached for the doorbell, feeling a bit out of sorts from the exchange. Just as he was halfway through crossing the street, however, the girl ran back to him. He scratched the space between his eyebrows in irritation. "What now?"

"They won't open up, even if I told them that it was me, Petra Ral from the shoemaker's," the girl fretted, her voice quivering a bit. "What do I do now? My father's been hurting really badly, I don't want to have to use poppy's milk, he doesn't like that it makes him sleep the whole day…"

Levi fought the urge to massage his temples and say, _Didn't your father with the godforsaken leg tell you never to tell random thugs your name and address?_, and instead turned to the direction of the apothecary. "Well, come on then."

The girl – Petra – blinked at him. "To where?"

"The apothecary." _You dull brat._

"R-right!" Petra said, still looking puzzled. She was probably wondering why he was going with her to sort out the problem, but in honesty, he was too. He wasn't the sort of guy who helped people with their problems, especially not random little girls who told him he was graceful. (He was still trying to come to terms with that particular bit.)

"Mr. Katzung!" Petra called up to the closed window of the apothecary's upper floor. "Please open up! It's me, Petra Ral from the shoemaker's! It won't take five minutes, I promise!"

"Give it up, kid," Levi said. "Let me handle this."

"Handle it? How?"

Levi didn't answer her. Instead, he backed up a little and took a running jump towards the building. His foot caught the shop's stoop, and he kicked against it, launching himself towards the nearest window's ledge, which he caught with his hand. With two hands his pulled himself up to stand at the window's ledge, steadying himself with the rafters. He gave a little _tsk_ when he realized that his hands had come into contact with grime from the rafters, but for the moment it wasn't important. He shook some of it off his hand and gave two sharp raps on the window shutters.

He heard a muffled cry of surprise from inside. Soon enough, a middle-aged man peeked out through a shutter and opened it, looking at a loss for words. "W-what do you think you're doing, young'un? If you fall-"

"Don't worry 'bout me," Levi interrupted curtly. "Petra needs to see you for things for her father's leg."

Still with a look of confusion, the man – Mr. Katzung, Levi presumed – nodded. "You, uh, a friend of Petra's? Or Andrei's?"

_He's not seen me from down the street, then?_ "Petra's," Levi confirmed, which was not quite a lie. Mr. Katzung stared at him expectantly. "Levi," he added reluctantly.

"Well, climb in and let me get you the items she needs," Mr. Katzung said, making for the stairs.

"I'll take this way," Levi said, jerking a thumb towards the outside. At Mr. Katzung's questioning look, he explained, "Can't leave Petra alone right now."

Realization dawned on the other male, and Levi left it at that, going down the way he came. Petra greeted him with wide eyes. "How did you do that? That was _amazing_, mister!"

His mouth nearly twitched upward at her praise. "Call me Levi," he said, though he wouldn't have told her his name if he didn't think Mr. Katzung would find it strange that Petra called her friend "mister". He wiped his hands with a clean rag from his pocket. "Results of a long time in practice."

Petra's smile was bright. "Levi, have you ever considered joining the Military? You'd have the 3DMG mastered with that kind of skill!"

There it was again, that clench in his chest. "…I-"

A "Psst!" came from an alleyway beside the store, and a teenage boy waved them closer. Levi gently pushed Petra to that direction, looking to see if any of his gangmates (or indeed, any of their enemies) were looking their way. To his relief, the coast was clear.

They went through the back door of the apothecary, which the boy – probably Mr. Katzung's apprentice – locked again, and the pungent smells of powders and extracts assaulted Levi's senses. To his right, Petra held a handkerchief to her face. Mr. Katzung reappeared, looking apologetic. "I'm very sorry, my dear," he said to Petra as he bustled around to prepare her order. "It's been a fright here recently, with those hoodlums hanging about. I didn't want to take my chances. I don't understand why the Military Police Corps still hasn't done anything about it…"

"It's okay, Mr. Katzung," Petra said cheerily, though Levi thought that it was far from okay to shut a young girl out in the dangerous streets. "I understand completely."

"No." The man shook his head solemnly. "It was inexcusable of me to leave you out there." He put several tea packets and two small jars of liniment into a brown paper bag. Petra opened her mouth, seemingly to protest, but Mr. Katzung pushed it into her hands. "Yes, I know it's more than what you paid for. Take it as an apology."

"Th-thank you, Mr. Katzung!" Petra exclaimed, looking awed at the extra service.

Mr. Katzung waved her thanks away, and nodded towards Levi. "It's good to have a friend like him," he said. "If I hadn't seen the lengths you'd go through to get Andrei's medications, I might not have realized the situation."

"Yup!" Petra turned to him, a smile like sunshine glowing on her face. "I'm lucky like that!"

Levi shifted uncomfortably, awkward at being praised honestly, let alone twice in the same day. "We should get to your father, Petra."

Outside the apothecary, the sun was setting, and Levi's nape prickled when he realized what that meant. Petra didn't seem to think much of it, however. "Thank you for your help, Levi!" she gushed as soon as they were out of Mr. Katzung's earshot. "He's right, he might have never opened up for me if you hadn't climbed up there, and – oh! That was just so amazing Levi, is that something you-"

"Listen, Petra," Levi cut through. Petra's grin fell. "You better hurry home. Things might turn ugly really quickly."

"What do you mean?" she asked, clutching her package to her chest.

"Mr. Katzung is right to be paranoid," he said, subconsciously patting his pants for his knife, which was still in his right pocket. "This isn't the place to be right now. Go home, take a shortcut if you have to."

"How about you, though? Won't it be dangerous for you, too?"

Her earnest look was almost pitiful to look at. Levi shrugged. "That's how it is."

She didn't question it further, which he thought was mature for a 10-year-old. "Okay," she said, not without some sadness. "Thank you very much, Levi."

"See you around, Petra." He doubted he ever would, though.

Still, he watched her leave up until she turned a corner out of his sight, her strawberry blonde hair trailing her, and wondered if he should have just seen her home himself. _No time for that, though – those damn bastards could show up any time._

It was only when he settled back on his watch that something strange occurred to him.

_That's the first time anyone's called me their friend._

He shook his head, unused to such saccharine thoughts, and took out his knife to polish it. If anyone asked, he would attribute his half-smile to the fact that polishing his pocket knife to gleaming perfection was cathartic to him. Warmth and contentment like that could have never come from a random little girl's praise.

…_well. All right._

_Maybe a little._

* * *

Levi used to hate the most having his face in contact with the ground with all its dirt and critters and god-knows-what rubbing into his skin. But at that moment, he found something that he hated more than that.

He hated being face-down on the ground, unable to move from the pain blooming from his right side and arm, with flames dancing in his slowly blurring vision as his head and neck throbbed dully. His gangmates – the cowards – were nowhere to be found, though his ears were ringing with screams and battle cries from all around him.

He wished he could get up, or crawl, or even reach into his pocket for a clean cloth. As it was, he could barely summon the energy to lift his uninjured arm.

_So this is where it ends?_

…_damn it. It could have been better than this._

Fire – where _had_ the fire come from? Did it just explode into existence? – crept slowly towards him, coloring everything a hazy sea of orange and yellow. He could hear distant yells and heavy footfalls through the ground as his ear pressed closer towards the cobblestone, the only source of coolness left. He closed his painfully dry eyes, and saw it again.

Two wings on a green field, flying higher than honor. Freedom from being earth-bound scum.

…_definitely better than this._

He didn't want to be dreaming even at this precipice towards death. He didn't have the right, filth that he was. He opened his eyes again, determined not to die still watching that green standard of his ambitions, but his vision was near gone. Flames of red and orange and yellow and blonde and honey enveloped him in warmth akin to that of a mother's, and they whispered to him in echoes, _Levi! Levi! Stay with me! We're getting out of here! Levi!_

And with that comfortable thought – _Mother_ – still in his dazed mind, he faded into black.

* * *

_Post-Chapter Notes:  
_Edit: The setting used to be in Karanese District (and before that, it used to be Hermiha District), but after contemplating it I realized that Hermiha District would work better with Levi's background putting him in Wall Sina before he joined the Military. So I changed (went back, actually) to setting it at Hermiha.

Also, the divisions of the Hermiha District (the Outer, Middle, and Inner Rows) are of my imaginings and are based on the structure of the Avatar series' fictional city, Ba Sing Se.

Petra's father is named "Andrei" here, based on St. Andrew, the brother of St. Peter, both Apostles of Christ. He's a shoemaker because… well, you'll see. Mr. Katzung is named after the author of my Pharmacology book. His name sounded like it would fit in the SnK world, and he owns an apothecary here, so I thought it was perfect.

As I warned earlier, I'm making some changes in Levi's origins that are probably not canon or indeed, widely-accepted fanon. I don't think it'll change his characterization by much though – if anything, if Levi's seems OOC in this fic, it's because of my inability to write him perfectly.

Anyway, changes. First, that his age gap with Petra is around 5 years (instead of 10+ like most seem to believe) – enough to make it awkward at first, but acceptable in the long run. Second, I'm not sure if Levi is his first or last name. But most people in the series are referred to by their first name, so I'm guessing it's his first and that his last name is unknown by virtue of presumably being an orphan. Third (which is the biggest and probably most controversial change I'm going to make), is that he's known Petra's father for about the same length of time he's known Petra (thus making their dialogue in Ch 30 of the manga a bit different from how it's gonna go down in my fic; it might make this fic's ending happier though, who knows).

**Ceyrai Says: **I hope I don't alienate any readers from this story because of the changes I'm making. There's too little Rivetra in the world and I really wanna contribute (before, you know, _that_ happens).

And you probably don't care, but I'm also not used to writing people _not_ using Japanese honorifics. I've had to stop myself from making Petra go, "Levi-niichan!" so many times. Ugh. I kinda want a imouto!Petra x oniichan!Levi fic now. Excuse me while I exorcise myself of this idea.

As always, reviews make me happy about as much as caek!


	2. Petra

**Ceyrai Says: **Episode 21 happened. _And then_ Episode 22 happened. I can't say I've never felt this much pain before, because I always seem to go through seeing my favorite characters die and my OTPs become nOTPs. For some reason, even if I knew what was going to happen… I still… Argh. Why do I do this to myself.

Anyway. I must say I'm very happy with the response to the first chapter. THANK YOU, everyone – I'm glad most everyone liked it and that you're up for more. I have to especially thank **Amvonz** (pensivebanana on Tumblr) for giving it a much-needed signal boost on Tumblr as I was still fixing my blog back then.

This chapter is, in more ways than one, dedicated to Petra Ral. She is/was an awesome character – strong, loyal, caring, and worthy of living on in our hearts. I wish her character was expounded on more. Her life (and screentime) was way too short for such a cool lady. I hope I do the expansion of her past some justice.

_General Notes_:  
_Pair_: Levi x Petra.  
_Universe_: Very slightly AU i.e. canon x my headcanon.  
_Warnings_: Some deviations from canon. Possible OOCness (YMMV). More explanations in Chapter 1. Also, I'm stupid but there's also coarse language courtesy of Levi, a warning I didn't put in the last chapter. Anyway.  
_Disclaimer_: I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan, nor any other copyrighted items mentioned.

_Pre-Chapter Notes:_

In the first chapter, I first made Levi and Petra's hometown in Hermiha, then changed it to Karanese. Then I realized that it should've been in Hermiha all along. Anyway, that edit's been made in the first chapter, and now the setting is in Hermiha, within Wall Sina. (Since canonically Levi's exploits as a member of the underground were supposedly in Wall Sina.)

* * *

**if the world's edge was a rainflower field**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Petra  
**_she turned towards the safest place she knew_

* * *

Petra's last memory with Joanna Ral was her nine-year-old self weaving the older woman's thick and long ginger-blonde hair into a single long braid down her back, the double-winged crest of the Recon Corps peeking from underneath. If Petra ran her fingers through her own hair – a little blonder than Joanna's – she could vaguely bring back the sensation of the silken strands contrasting with the coarse cotton of the uniform jacket brushing against her knuckles.

"It's not practical, really, to have it this long," Joanna had said with an exasperated smile. "But your father likes it like this – the sentimental idiot. I guess I have to let him have his way every now and then, or he'll cry."

Petra, in the years to come, would come to realize that what her mother really meant was that she could not bear to throw away another part of herself that her husband so loved, when she already had to shut away her humanity much too often for the sake of her work. And her husband, Petra's father, had already given so much to the war against the Titans – his leg, his livelihood, and even his happy married life – all with little complaint and always with a smile on his face.

He asked for so little, and the only thing Joanna could have given back to him was to remain the woman that he loved so much. Keeping her hair like that, Petra supposed, was her own way of staying Andrei Ral's wife even when she had already sold her soul to humanity's cause.

It was a beautiful morning with a light end-of-summer breeze, and the other children were laughing away with their games in the streets. But Petra had chosen to be with her mother to while away the hours before Joanna rode to Shiganshina District, to rendezvous with the rest of her squad for the Recon Corps's 24th Expedition.

Petra remembered the sun filtering through the rough-spun curtains, the smell of leather and shoeshine, the bench by the window, and her mother's light, husky laugh when Petra declared – as she often did – that one day she would be just like Joanna. "I'll be a hero of humanity, too!" she had exclaimed with a grin, her fingers splayed against the blue-and-white embroidery of the Recon Corps's emblem on her mother's back. "Just like you, Mother!"

"Is that right?" Joanna had said, grabbing Petra's arms from behind. The little girl squealed indignantly. "And what if a Titan grabbed you like this-" She turned to tuck wriggling fingers into Petra's sides, "-and tickled you to death? What now, my little heroine?"

Petra would always be glad that even at that age, she had known how precious every moment with her mother was, even if she had no concept of death's permanence back then. It gave her the happy opportunity to call that – soft sunlight, mischievous grins, and a bellyful of hysterical laughter – her last memory of her mother.

…and not that _other_ moment where she saw the same ginger-blonde braid trailing out of the blanket covering Joanna's corpse, in the morgue of the Military's Hermiha headquarters.

Her father had not wanted Petra to accompany him that day, but she had refused to leave his side. It was a good thing that she had, she realized later – no one else could have held them together but each other in the moment where the coroner unveiled Joanna, looking as though she was sleeping.

(_But not really_, Petra had thought, her mind near numb. _Mom moves too much in her sleep. This isn't her sleeping. This isn't her at all._)

They had stood there frozen with not a sound, for what felt to Petra like forever, until out of the corner of her eye she saw her father move to touch her mother's braid.

"_Don't_," she had demanded sharply, suddenly gripped with unexplainable fear. Her father had looked at her, gaunt and broken. "Don't. You can't." The words sounded more desperate than she had intended. "You can't… because… if you do…"

Petra had not realized it right away, but she had finally begun to cry as the sense of loss came crashing down on her. "I-it's not quite the right shade," she had said shakily, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, "a-and it's not as long as hers, but I have her hair. Father, I have M-Mother's hair. I can even grow it longer so it'll look even more like hers. So you don't have to touch hers anymore. Please, Father. _Please._"

Some semblance of life washed over her father's face then, and Petra knew he had understood something in that moment – even if she hadn't, despite the words she had spoken. "You're right," he had said, dropping to his knees and cupping her head in his big palm. "You're right. I'm sorry, Petra. I almost forgot."

They had held each other, miserable but together in their loss. And Petra knew there was no way she would ever let her father lose anything he held dear, ever again.

Andrei Ral had been a physically weak sort of man for most of Petra's life, and she did not know him as anything else. She had been six when she began to accompany him to clinic visits when Joanna was on duty, and eight when she started to go on apothecary runs for his medications, all on her own. And then at nine, they lost her mother, and suddenly caring for nearly all of her father's needs – emotional, physical, and social – became the center of Petra's existence, especially on the days where he threw himself into work to escape the nightmares of seeing his wife die in the many possible ways a soldier could.

They would take years to pick up the pieces, to settle into a routine without watching the door waiting for her mother to burst in, tired and relieved to be home. The first few months, it had been left to Petra to lift her father to his feet – literally and figuratively – every time he fell. Their neighbors and friends helped her with him when they could, but Petra did not want to bother them all the time, so she never complained. And if she ever got exhausted from pulling him from work and pushing him to take care of himself, she only whispered it to her prayers.

But they moved on eventually, and Andrei began to find his shoemaking a joy once more, instead of a distraction from his morbid thoughts. Though he never stopped relying on Petra completely, to finally see a real smile on him was progress enough for her.

"Petra," he would say, when he finally resumed putting her to bed each night, though she had grown too old for that in the time it took her father to recover. "My dear Petra. You truly are my joy and treasure. Your mother left me such a wonderful gift in you. I couldn't have asked for a better daughter." He would press a finger gently onto her nose, and add with a soft smile, "Never leave your old man alone, okay?"

And Petra would laugh and agree, because how could she say no to her father who needed her more than anyone? How could she keep dreaming of the sky her mother flew in when it had betrayed her like that?

So she tucked her dreams of heroism and duty and her mother's footsteps back into the dark corners of her subconscious, smiling because she was safe and sound enough for her father to be happy. And that was the only thing she needed right then.

(Or so she told herself.)

* * *

Petra had always been physically strong, even as a child. It was a good thing she took after her mother, because with the way her father was, having them both weak would be counter-productive. In fact, the more he relied on her, the stronger she became, so it was fine.

_Still_, she thought as she carried in the last crate of the new leather shipment from Wall Maria, _we ought to take on an apprentice again, soon. I can't help Father as much when I go to school in the fall._ She figured it was a lucky thing that she was on summer holidays when her father's leg went into one of its episodes, but it was rare such coincidences happened.

Petra scowled when she caught her father on his workbench, sewing up a sole of a leather boot. "Father!" The man winced and looked at her sheepishly. "Didn't I tell you to rest in bed? You _know_ sitting like that is going to make it worse. I mean, we've been out of the tea and liniment since yesterday and yet you insist-"

"I know that, Petra," Andrei said weakly, wilting under her severe gaze. "But I need to get the shipment out in a month – the new batch of recruits from Hermiha and the neighboring districts are leaving for training soon, and I've only finished half of the orders…"

"I'll help," Petra replied briskly, pushing the crate into the storage room beside its fellows. She flipped her long, unbound hair behind her shoulders. "Really, you should stop getting more orders than you can handle, Father – even taking from the kids in the next town, _honestly_. The Military's overworking you when there are other shoemakers they can bother."

Andrei laughed. "It's not my fault that Keith Shadis's recommendation went over well with his superiors all those years ago. And you have to admit, anything to do with the Military pays well. Besides," and he smiled, "if I can help my old comrades and mankind in my own way, I can face Joanna when the time comes."

Petra rolled her eyes, exasperated but fond. "Goodness. I don't think Mother would approve of you straining yourself so much, either."

"You're certainly right about that." Andrei moved to shift his position on the bench, and gave a heavy wince when his leg strained. Petra was instantly at his side to support him.

"All right, that's it," she said sternly, hands on her hips, and Andrei laughed embarrassedly. "To bed with you. I can't have you rolling all over the floor while I'm at the apothecary." She slung her father's arm across her narrow shoulders and guided him to his bedroom.

"Sorry to bother you, pebble," he said softly, voice suffused with a bit of self-pity. "To think a daughter should have to lug her old man around like this…"

"Oh, Father," Petra said, with a laugh at the end of a sigh as she put him to bed. "Whoever's in charge up there of matching kids to parents clearly just thought it through, that's all. Why else was I given these biceps of mine?" She flexed her arms playfully, and her father chuckled. "Well, I suppose I could let you get back to work as soon as you take your medication," she conceded with a soft smile, "so just hang tight, okay?"

With that, she set off to 11th Street, where their usual apothecary was, bringing with her an umbrella. She had heard that for several nights (and counting, it seemed), daily life in that street and the streets around it were being upset by gang fights and whatnot. She figured that a little extra protection couldn't hurt. She could hold her own in a fight – kids liked to pick on her sometimes for being short, but mostly for having a crippled father and a dead mother, and she had to learn how to defend herself – but she didn't think she could go against gangsters.

It was when she turned the corner to 11th Street that she saw what the fuss was all about – there were five teenage boys, looking like all kinds of menacing, sitting on the stoop of the old abandoned liquor shop. She ducked her head and clutched her umbrella tighter, determined to look as unimportant as possible. But then a flash of silver caught her eye, and she found herself following it.

The silver streak was from the blade of a knife being twirled by the adept fingers of one of the delinquents. Petra watched, fascinated at the blade catching the light of the late afternoon sun. The fascination extended to the long fingers gracefully spinning the blade between them; to the small flick of a wrist that rounded out the balancing act; to the way that the knife's owner leaned against the stone doorframe of the shop, his slender form all smooth angles and sharp lines.

And then the boy with the knife caught her eye, leapt off the stoop with the agility of a feline, and she finally met Levi, who was intimidating and unpredictable and stern and had a hidden kindness to him that she was glad to have seen. She didn't know why she had blurted out all those things – something about the way he stared at her threatened retribution if she lied to him – but he had helped her, even if he wasn't obliged to. In fact, Petra was sure it was quite against his nature to stop and help random strangers, but he did.

But what made her heart beat louder was his daring and sheer physical prowess at climbing a two-story window. Nothing ever happened in their sleepy town of Hermiha – well, in the Middle Row at least – and to see Levi in action like that was the closest to the Military's 3D maneuvers that she'd ever seen.

He moved like he was meant for the sky.

Petra was still thinking about it as she ran home like Levi instructed, eager to try those leaps the moment she had the chance. He made the leaps look easy, but she was sure there was a lot of leg power involved in them.

_What kind of training do I have to go through to make those leaps? _she thought as she bustled around making dinner. She gave a long, hard look at the stairway while she cut up some potatoes, weighing her options.

Her father was sleeping in his room, waiting for the medicine to take effect. That, and she had changed into pants and a shirt, putting her waist-length hair in a braid before doing her evening chores.

She grinned, abandoned the tubers, and made a running jump for one of the bits of stair planks jutting out from stairway's side. However, instead of her foot catching that bit of wood, she caught the wall instead and fell hard on her back with a resounding _thud_.

Her face crumpled comically, and she held in her cry of pain, waiting for her father to wake up to scold her. When he didn't, she twisted herself up with a groan, rubbed her backside, and went back to her potatoes, a little disappointed.

Still, she couldn't help that little smile she got when she remembered how amazing Levi looked leaping to reach a height in an inordinately short amount of time. "One day," she murmured, continuing on dicing the potatoes. She did have one niggling thought in her mind, however, despite the cheer that the memory lent her.

_What am I going to use that sort of skill for, anyway, if I'm not going to be joining the Military?_

* * *

Throughout dinner, Petra talked of her encounter with Levi in 11th Street, carefully omitting the fact that he was part of the gangs terrorizing part of the Middle Row. She described his gruff brand of kindness, and his climbing feat that he made look so natural.

She could not stop smiling as she described the events of that afternoon. "You should have seen him, Father," she enthused. "I'd never seen anything like it. Oh, but that's probably the sort of thing you saw when you and Mother were in training, right? I bet he would make a great soldier. He should enlist!"

However, her father looked unimpressed, merely worried. "Is he from around here? I don't think I've heard of any teenager who can do that kind of thing – not any from here, anyway." He frowned, setting down his fork. "In any case, that was a dangerous thing to do. You mustn't imitate him, Petra."

Her heart sank, but still she murmured, "Yes, Father," and reluctantly turned the conversation to the bit of gossip she'd heard when she was out and about. Her father seemed to relax after that.

The noises from outside had been increasingly frequent all throughout dinner, but she hadn't found that too unusual, at least at first. "There seems to be a commotion outside," Andrei said after the meal, with him sipping chamomile tea. "You don't think something's happened?"

Petra shrugged as she rinsed the dishes. "If there is, it's got nothing to do with us."

She thought of Levi and his cat-like grace and shook her head minutely. _Nothing to do with us at all._

The notion was barely past her head when the yelling outside suddenly escalated. Father and daughter frowned at each other questioningly, and the latter stuck her head out a window. "Hey!" she called to a school friend who was running past. "Hey, Cella! What's going on?"

Cella, a tall dark-haired girl with blue eyes, looked simultaneously frightened and excited. "There's a big fire at 11th Street!" Petra's stomach clenched unpleasantly. "They say there was a big fight among those gangbangers, and then one of them threw something flammable at the old liquor store, and it exploded and now there's a big fire!"

"D-Did anyone die?" _Not Levi, please._ Not that Cella would know, of course.

"Haven't heard about any," the other girl said. If she thought anything about Petra's sigh of relief, she didn't say anything. "I'm going to 11th Street to get a scope on things. You coming?"

Petra hesitated. Hadn't she already said that it had nothing to do with them?

_But he'd been so nice._

She thought back to the full box of tea bags and two jars of liniment in their cupboard. Then she set her jaw and turned to get into her boots. Ignoring her father's protest, she set off with the other girl.

"What I don't understand," Cella said as they ran through the streets, "is why the Military Police aren't doing anything. This is Wall Sina! Shouldn't they have been here from the start?"

The shorter girl didn't reply, instead thinking back on her mother's harsh words about that division of the Military. "They are worthless," Joanna had proclaimed, her sharp tongue indomitable as ever. "All that skill goes to waste when it should be going to where the real fight is."

Petra agreed with her mother, and to herself added, _It seems they can't even do their job right. It's just so foolish._

A large crowd cordoned the entrance to 11th Street, with the men running to and fro carrying buckets of water to put the fires out. She squeezed between the people in the crowd. _Being short is a good thing, sometimes._

The stoop was empty of anyone, though men were entering and exiting the burning shop in quick succession in attempts to put out the fire. Petra stayed by the edge of the crowd and craned her neck, trying to find a hint of short dark hair coupled with a scowl. _Maybe he managed to get away?_

Her gut twisted when she saw a body lying prone, in an alley at the side of the burning building where no one would notice – unless they were looking for something (or someone) in particular. She made to run towards it, but some adult grabbed her shoulder. "You can't go in there, kid! There's a ton of alcohol in there – something might explode!"

"Someone's there!" Petra yelled. "If we don't go get him-"

"Oy! Clear out! The Military Police is here!"

She froze in horror, but in the space of a second managed enough motivation to snap herself out of it and wrench herself from the grasp of the well-meaning onlooker. Just as she ran towards the alley, however, something blew up from the second floor of the burning shop, raining down fiery debris everywhere.

Screams erupted from the crowd, but Petra forced the hesitation out of herself and ran forward. Shielding herself with her arm from any projectile from above, she came closer to the body, turning the head up towards her.

The tiny scowl, even while unconscious, was unmistakable.

"Levi," she whispered, taking in his injuries. He was breathing – however shallow – though there was redness coloring the sleeve of his right arm, and his right side. "Don't die on me," she added, more to comfort herself than anything.

Well, this was something she could work with, having had to pick up her father from the floor many times. She put Levi's arm around her shoulders, and was relieved that he was much lighter than Andrei. _I can bring him to safety, far from here._ But where?

He grunted, and Petra saw him regain some awareness. "Levi!" she exclaimed. His eyes found hers, though she doubted he could see her. "Levi! Stay with me! We're getting out of here!"

But as quickly as he regained consciousness, he started losing it again. "Levi!" she cried again, but it was useless – he could not help her help him, in the state that he was. Instead, she heaved him onto her back, careful not to jostle his injured arm.

Again, she had to make a decision. If she turned him in to the Military Police's custody, he would be in a lot of trouble. But if she brought him to her home, _she_ would be in a lot of trouble.

The older boy groaned into shoulder. As though that was a warning of impending doom, she turned towards the safest place she knew.

Her father was not going to like this.

* * *

"I don't like this," Andrei said, crossing his arms.

"Shush!" Petra hissed, peeking into the tiny guest room. Thankfully, Levi was still fast asleep. His arm and his side, both of which weren't in as bad a shape as she thought they were, had both been tended to by her father. He also had an ugly purple bruise on his nape and a bump on his head from when someone knocked him unconscious, but it looked like nothing was broken. The fever he suddenly developed while being treated was more problematic, though – it had made him a bit delirious while Andrei patched him up. Petra, in desperation, had mixed some fever medication into some warm broth that she coaxed down Levi's throat, which finally made his temperature fall to near-normal.

But now that the worst was over, father and daughter finally had the chance to talk about the choice she made. "What was I supposed to do, Father?" Petra protested in a whisper, though she herself was unsure of the repercussions of her heroics. "I couldn't just leave him behind!"

Andrei sighed wearily. "You can't take in every stray you see, pebble."

"Father, you can't talk as if he's the same as those puppies and kittens-"

"Exactly," her father said, giving her a rare glower. "He's human. He won't necessarily be grateful that you took him in. A human is more likely to bite the hand that fed him, you know."

Petra bit her lip. He made sense.

"You went near a burning building to rescue a boy you've met only once," Andrei continued, the disappointment in his voice becoming more and more palpable. "What's more, you bring him – and he could be one of those delinquents for all we know – into our house. I'm sure you did it out of kindness, Petra, but I would have rather that this didn't happen."

Suddenly, the reasoning that he'd been nice to her didn't sound like much of a reason anymore, with all the arguments laid out in front of her. "W-well, he's here now," she said, tucking back a lock of hair behind her ear. "We can't just dump him out into the streets anymore."

"As much as I'd like to," Andrei said under his breath. "But yes, it can't be helped at this point. Just lock your bedroom door when you go to sleep, Petra."

It was a subtle order for her to go to bed, his tone brooking no argument. Petra certainly didn't want to upset him further, either. With one last peek into Levi's room, she bid her father good night and went to bed, falling asleep to thoughts of flames and unfocused grey eyes and silver streaks in the air.

She woke up at the first hint of daylight, and her first thought was to check up on Levi. She knew her father would be displeased if she went to see Levi without supervision, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Taking care to be quiet, she cracked the guest room's door open on the pretense of changing the wet washcloth on his head.

The guest room's window faced east, and the sunlight streaming through the window slats bathed the room in a soft yellow. Even Levi's perpetual scowl looked a little less severe in this light. Petra had to smile at this. Quiet as a mouse, she came closer and reached out to change the still-damp cloth on his forehead.

She didn't get to. She had barely peeled it back when she was twisted off her feet and slammed against the wall beside the window, her wrist pinned to the wall by Levi's hand, and her neck blocked across by his arm.

She couldn't breathe properly – from the shock or the arm against her windpipe she couldn't tell. Levi's eyes were wide and agitated, his own breathing heavy and uneven. Grey (or was it blue-grey? Petra wasn't sure) searched light brown frantically, and slowly, the situation dawned on him.

"…Petra…"

He was taking too long to process what was going on, and his hold had not loosened. Belatedly, she noticed that her other hand had been free the whole time, and she gently tapped the arm that was against her neck. He recoiled at the touch, but he got the idea and dropped his hold on her.

And then the damp washcloth slipped over his eyes.

Over the furious pounding of her heart in her throat and the tears she could feel welling behind her eyes, she heard herself snort. Levi's jaw dropped, and he peeled the washcloth off himself with a look as though it had caused him great offense.

_Well, Day One._

* * *

Breakfast was a quiet but tense affair. Levi seemed extremely skittish – _Like a stray cat brought in from the street, _Petra thought. Which, if she considered it, he was. He was simultaneously jiggling his leg and picking at the wood of the dining table, shooting looks at the front door like he was going to bolt for it if he had the chance.

Her father, on the other hand, was being unusually accommodating for someone who was so against Levi staying. He offered bread, sausage, and fried eggs to the younger man, who looked at each item suspiciously before wolfing them down without so much as a thank you. If Andrei found that rude, he didn't comment. He merely watched out of the corner of his eye, and Petra couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Petra herself was nervous. She suspected that her father didn't hear their little scuffle that morning, or Levi would've been kicked out immediately. There was a tender bump on the back of her head, but she tried not to be too obvious about it lest her father ask.

So she went for acting natural. After pouring her father a mug of coffee, she gave Levi the sunniest smile she could manage and asked, "Levi, would you like some coffee as well?"

"That stuff tastes like shit," he muttered, still hunched over a half-eaten sausage.

Petra's smile fell, but before she could cover up with some inane comment, Andrei set his mug heavily on the table, making her flinch and Levi look up.

"Levi," the shoemaker said solemnly. "The polite thing would be to say 'No, thank you'. Wouldn't you say?"

Levi was silent and expressionless as he stared at Andrei, who resolutely held his gaze. Petra waited for the explosion, staring determinedly at her shoes.

"…I'm sorry. No thank you, Petra."

Petra looked up and found Levi had faced her, though he didn't meet her eyes. _He actually looks ashamed of himself_, she thought, surprised. "I-It's fine!" she said, too cheerfully to be believed. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about it!"

"Oh I don't know, pebble." Andrei had a big grin on his face. "He shouldn't knock it till he's tried it. Have some, Levi. Petra's brew is the best."

Petra dearly wished her father hadn't said that, because Levi was now looking at her with his usual intensity, expectantly holding out his cup. "You don't have to just because Father said so," she said as she poured him the drink, shooting Andrei a pout. He merely smiled at her. "Some people just don't like coffee, Father. You mustn't be so forceful about personal pref-"

"…It's good."

She turned to see Levi staring at his cup like he found gold nuggets in it. Her heart fluttered, and Andrei laughed. "Have you ever had coffee with cream and sugar and a bit of cocoa, kid?"

Levi shook his head vigorously. "Just coffee."

The he took another quick sip, and then another, then another, until he emptied his cup. Petra beamed, for real this time. She raised the coffee pot.

"Another?"

Levi looked into his empty cup, his frame finally a little less overwrought. Petra imagined that there was a smile behind his softer gaze. "Yeah," he said, holding out his cup. "Another."

* * *

The day passed without much incident, not counting a worrisome five minutes when a couple of Military Policemen stopped by the shop, but only to look at the military boots on display. At that time, Levi had been resting in the guest room, and Petra had earnestly hoped he wouldn't wander into the shop front at the wrong time.

_Not that he would._ Most of the day, Levi had kept to himself as he recovered in his room, even when Petra knew he was awake. He only showed himself when it was time for a meal, with which he seemed continually in awe.

The second and third days also passed without incident, to Petra's relief. However, rumors that the Military Police were still flushing out the delinquents from their hiding holes and rewarding civilians who discovered them only grew louder. Sometimes, she would nervously look up to Levi's room, as though some MP would swoop into it and take Levi away.

Which was a ridiculous fear, because Levi didn't belong to them, anyway.

And then on the fourth day, Levi did something that surprised her.

"Let me do that," he said, lifting the crate of leather she was dragging out of the storage room into his arms.

"You're injured!" she protested, glancing at his still-bandaged arm hidden under the sleeve of one of Andrei's old shirts. He clicked his tongue.

"It's healing. 'Sides, you're a girl."

Petra puffed out her cheeks, ready to retort that being a girl didn't mean she couldn't lift things – but thinking back on how Levi seemed completely deferential to Andrei the past few days, she thought she understood: in his own awkward way, Levi was trying to be a good guest.

So they let him help with little tasks around the house, and slowly, they settled into a three-person routine. In the day, Andrei would furiously work on the trainee boot orders in one corner, while Petra managed the shop front, handling the requests for repairs and measurements for customizations. Levi did the leg work and heavy lifting, and even some of the cleaning around the house (which Petra felt he was rather obsessive about). He mostly worked in the background, though, that no one seemed to notice that there was a third person in the Ral household lately. And then in the evening, Andrei would remain with the boots, while she prepared dinner, Levi hovering over her shoulder all the while.

"You watch me cook all the time," she observed on the seventh night. For some reason she had gotten used to cooking for three people rather quickly, and the fact still continued to amaze her.

Levi was leaning against the kitchen counter, and he gave a small shrug. "You might need help."

She doubted he knew how to cook, but she knew better than to say that. "Help with what?" she asked instead, adding some pepper to the broth she was stirring.

"Slicing stuff," he said. She wondered if he still had that knife somewhere in his pockets. "A little girl like you shouldn't be handling knives, anyway."

The honey-haired girl stopped stirring and pouted at him. "_Little girl_? I'm turning thirteen in November, I'll have you know."

"You're twelve?" Levi blinked, his eyebrows raised. "Huh. Thought you were ten this whole time."

Petra stared. _Is he serious?_

He cleared his throat and dug the jab deeper, intentionally or not. "…Sorry. You're kinda tiny."

Out of the corner of Petra's eye, she caught her father smothering a grin.

She reddened. She'd been called all variations of "shorty" all her life, but to be called that by another shorty was just cruel. "Y-You're not that tall yourself, y-you pocket-sized pillbug of a thug!"

A long moment of uncomfortable silence later, she finally realized that she had just called a dangerous delinquent – who had knives within his reach – a _pocket-sized pillbug._

_Oh. Oh dear._

Levi was stone-faced, and Andrei paused in his work, watching closely. Petra could feel her heart pounding against her throat, and the prickle of tears behind her eyes. She gripped her dress tightly, waiting for his next move.

But the dark-haired teen only raised an eyebrow. "If I'm pocket-sized_,_ then exactly what do we call you?"

There was another long pause. Then Andrei let out a loud chortle. And – _is that a smug_ _little _smirk_ on Levi's face?_

_So he does know how to do that, huh?_

Petra finally felt it was safe to let out an annoyed growl. "Just you wait! I'll grow taller than you, and _then _you can tell me that to my face!"

"I wouldn't count on it," her father said, still chuckling. "You take after your mother – she was tiny thing too."

"Father! Take my side, geez!"

The Ral house rang with conversation and laughter, quiet but bright. It was a sound that Petra did not know she would hear again, one that she hoped would stay for a long while.

* * *

"I have to leave soon," Levi said in the evening of the ninth day.

Petra nearly dropped her fork at this declaration, out of the blue as it was. "Levi…" she began, before she realized that she had no glanced at her father helplessly, but he was still calmly sipping his soup. She turned to Levi again. "But why?"

He didn't look up from his meal, which he wasn't eating anyway. "I don't belong here."

The girl bit her lip. She wanted so much to say, "Of course you do!" but she didn't know how to say that without the words sounding pretentious. Besides, Levi did not seem the type to linger.

But he had, and his presence in their house had become so routine, so _comfortable_ that Petra had taken for granted that he would leave one day. _All that time, he still never felt like he belonged._ She stared at the wooden table, not really registering it.

_How do you tell a person not to leave if he has not really, truly stayed?_

"Where _do _you belong, Levi?"

Petra looked up at her father's words, and so did Levi himself. Andrei continued gently, "Do you have somewhere or someone to come back to? Or maybe, you have a lifestyle that you can't leave?"

That just seemed to tick Levi off. "It's none of your business," he said shortly. "Sir," he added, with some regret.

"No, I suppose not." Andrei sighed. "I merely thought – seeing as you've been our guest for a while – that we'd like to see you off safe and sound to your next destination. Wherever it is."

Neither Petra nor Levi could follow up on that. The rest of the evening proceeded in the mournful sort of quiet that Petra hated, with the gray-eyed teen shutting himself up in his room – _Which soon won't be, I suppose_. Her father gave her a sad smile over the rim of his evening tea.

"I would've taken Levi on as an apprentice, had he given any indication that he wanted to stay," he admitted. "It's a shame. I thought he was the type of person who'd want to take control of his life after all that hardship."

_He probably is,_ his daughter thought. _Just that he doesn't know how to._

* * *

The next morning, Levi wasn't in his room, or anywhere in the house.

The guest room bed had been made, and the bandages folded on the bedside table, pristine white. Andrei's old clothes were still in the closet, save for a pair of pants and a shirt that Petra was sure her father wouldn't miss.

"What did I expect?" she muttered, flopping down on the bed, her hair splayed everywhere. Rays of light poured cheerfully through the window slats. Petra raised her fingers to the light, playing with the shadows they made. "Psh. He didn't even thank me."

(The thought hurt more than it should.)

The breakfast table felt empty with just Petra and Andrei eating in silence. Breakfast with Levi was also quiet, but it was of a contented sort. Without him filling the third side of the table, it just felt incomplete.

_I'll get over it, _Petra thought. _It can't be worse than losing Mother – we hardly knew Levi, after all._

But that was her heartache, wasn't it?

The ringing of the shop front's bell distracted her from her gloomy thoughts. She frowned as she stood up to intercept the visitor – surely everyone in the neighborhood knew they didn't open until after breakfast time?

She opened the shop door. "Sorry, we're still closed- oh! It's you, Trevor!"

Trevor – Mr. Katzung's apprentice – nodded at Petra somewhat curtly. She noticed that the bucktoothed boy was gripping his pant leg. Ignoring it, she went, "What brings you here so early? The shop won't open in an hour or-"

"This is the place?"

Petra's words stopped in her throat as she took in the two large men who appeared behind Trevor, both wearing the standard-issue military uniform with the unicorn insignia. "This is where the delinquent is?"

"This is it, yeah," Trevor said, not meeting Petra's eyes. "He's called Levi or something."

"Little girl," one Military Policeman (a man with thickset eyebrows) said to her, "your friend Trevor here has reported to us that you have been illegally harboring a gang member responsible for the series of street fights and the fire on 11th last week. Is this true?"

"There isn't any gang member staying here right now," Petra said curtly. And it was true. "Please leave our premises – your presence is bad for our business."

"Now see here, little missy," the other MP (who had a straight-cut moustache) said in a slow, patient tone that made Petra bristle, "I don't know if you understand what you're saying, but you mustn't get in the way of adult matters, all right?"

Her jaw clenched. "Don't patronize me-"

"Is there a problem?" Andrei appeared behind her, nodding at the two MPs.

"We've received a tip that you have a delinquent responsible for the trouble at 11th Street living with you currently…"

"Ah, is that so?" the shoemaker asked, amiable with strangers as ever. "I'm sorry sir, but my daughter is telling the truth – we don't have any gang members staying with us."

"We don't know that, uncle. If you could let us search the premises…"

"I apologize," Andrei said, smiling ruefully, "but if you don't have a warrant…"

The MPs glanced at each other. Trevor glared at his shoes. Petra glared at him. "That's true," Eyebrows said, "but we can't let it go like this. Still…" He looked into the shop, where some of the new military boots were on the display shelf.

He suddenly looked interested. "Well, we _could_ owe you a favor, if you let us each have a pair of those."

His companion smirked. "Hm, I suppose it's about time I changed boots. You look like you make great boots, uncle."

"A-Ah," Petra's father said, and Petra cringed inwardly – they could have done better without that quiver in his voice. "Th-that would be troublesome for us, Mister Policeman."

"It won't be that much trouble," Eyebrows said breezily, stepping towards the door to the shop.

"I'm afraid that it is," Andrei said a little more urgently, blocking his path. "I'd like to ask you to leave."

Moustache clicked his tongue impatiently and roughly pushed Andrei out of the way. "Don't get in the way, uncle."

Petra caught her father before he fell backward. "Hey!" she yelled angrily, stepping in front of him. "Knock it off!"

"Just let us do our business, and this won't have to get messy-"

"Leave us alone!" Petra exclaimed, pushing Moustache back towards the door.

"Petra, you mustn't-"

"Let me go, you damn brat!" The man raised his large hand to swipe her away. Petra squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the blow.

But the blow never came. "Petra, Mr. Ral, what's going on?"

_He came back._

Petra raised her eyes to look at Levi, who held the MP's arm away from her. "Levi, you-"

"That's him!" Trevor interrupted excitedly, pointing to Levi. "He's the one!"

Levi's brows drew together. "The fuck are you talking abou- oy!"

Eyebrows had grabbed Levi's free arm – the previously injured one – and twisted it behind his back, earning him the younger man's grunt of pain. "Well," he said, smirking triumphantly at Andrei and Petra. "Looks like you're guilty after all."

Levi struggled against him and Moustache, but the two men's combined strength proved too much for him, even as he twisted and spat and cursed. "Let go of him!" Petra cried, seeing a miniscule wince on her friend's face when Eyebrows twisted his arm further. _His wound is going to reopen, at this rate._ "He's done nothing wrong!"

"Seems to me this is how a guilty kid would act," Moustache said smugly. "Stop meddling, little missy. Just be grateful we're not taking you in as accomplices."

"Just let it go, Petra," Trevor said nervously.

Petra rounded on him. "Don't you start with me, Trevor Anthony! If you're doing this for the reward-"

"I-I don't know what y-you're on about-"

"You all are wasting our time," Eyebrows complained loudly. "Can we just get outta here?"

"Fucking let go of me, you damn dickwad," Levi growled, eyes wild. "Or I'll take your shitty eyeballs out and feed them to-"

"That's quite enough, all of you."

It wasn't the statement that made them all stop, but rather, the sudden business-like tone that Andrei took on. Petra shivered. She hardly heard him use that on anyone. "Uh… Father…"

"Petra, a lady should not behave like a common hoodlum – it's unbecoming. And Levi." The boy's head snapped up to meet Andrei's eyes. "It would be nice if you didn't use such language in this household."

"Yes sir," Levi mumbled.

Andrei turned to the two MPs, and Petra could have sworn they stood up a little straighter. "As for you two… I would certainly most appreciate it if you took your hands off my apprentice."

Moustache raised his eyebrows in confusion, but Eyebrows only held on to Levi tighter. "What do you mean by apprentice? You can't mean that this lowlife-"

"_Levi_ has been entrusted to me by his parents from Stohess District," Andrei lied with a calm that had his daughter in silent wonder. "I don't know what caused you to be suspicious of him, but rest assured that he did not take part in the events at 11th Street, as he was in the our shop the whole time."

"How do I know that you're telling me the-"

"Would you like Commander Keith Shadis of the Recon Corps to vouch for me?" Andrei asked. "Or maybe you'd like to bother Dallis Zacklay, the Commander-in-Chief of the Military, with this trivial matter?"

"Y-you're bluffing," Eyebrows retorted weakly. "There's no way you know those two."

Petra's father smiled cheerfully. "Would you like to prove me wrong?"

Eyebrows looked as though he was calculating his options, but Petra knew from the moment he stuttered that he was fighting a losing battle. Slowly and grudgingly, he let go of Levi, who wrenched his arms from him the rest of the way. The two MPs left the scene quickly after that, muttering under their breaths.

"Trevor," the shoemaker called, and the bucktoothed boy halted his supposedly unnoticeable exit. He looked back uncomfortably. "I assume this is an embarrassment you'd want to keep from Mr. Katzung?"

"Y-Yes sir."

"I should say so," Andrei said. "Try not to make such wild assumptions next time."

Trevor furrowed his brows and sent a furtive glance at Levi, who narrowed his eyes threateningly. "B-But sir-"

"I'm sure that Mr. Katzung is looking for you. It's about time the apothecary opens." Judging by her father's tone, Petra knew that the conversation had ended. Fortunately for Trevor, he came to the same conclusion, and made a hasty retreat.

It was only when he rounded the corner that Andrei fell to his knees. "Father!" Petra cried, rushing forward to help him up. Levi got there first, though.

"Let me, Mr. Ral."

Andrei sighed as Levi settled him onto the shop workbench. "Ah, that was nerve-wracking." He wiped his sweat with his collar, laughing uneasily. "I'm only glad they took me seriously, or it could have escalated to something worse."

"Oh, but that was wonderful, Father!" Petra gushed, eyes glowing. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Do you really know those people?" Levi asked, trying and failing not to sound too impressed.

"I know Keith Shadis personally, yes," Petra's father replied. "Zacklay was the bluff." Petra laughed at that, but all of a sudden, Andrei turned serious once more. "You decided to come back," he said to Levi.

If Levi had a look of embarrassment, Petra was sure she was looking at it now. His mouth was a thin line, his blue-grey eyes looked at anywhere but the Rals, and his fingers were fighting the urge to fidget.

"I… I didn't mean to… but those MPs…"

The corner of Andrei's mouth quirked up. "I understand." He put his fingers together. "I suppose that now we have to live up to the lie to keep up appearances, though."

Petra's mouth formed a little 'O'.

Levi merely looked confused. "…sir?"

"Yes, it can't be helped," Petra's father said, laughter in his voice. "I'll teach you how to make soles today. And maybe a bit on record-keeping. But first," he added as Levi's eyes went wide, realization dawning on him, "come have breakfast with us, Levi."

"Father!" Petra exclaimed, a grin forming on her face. "Do you mean to say…"

"It means what it means." Andrei mirrored her grin. "So Levi, what do you say? Breakfast?"

The younger man's surprise faded, and was replaced with the warmest look Petra had ever seen on his face. "Yeah, breakfast," he agreed. "We can do that."

_Yeah_, Petra said to herself as Andrei and Levi settled on the dining table, the latter automatically going for the coffee. _Breakfast is a good start._

_And it could only get better from here._

* * *

_Post-Chapter Notes:_

So Levi was actually just being overly dramatic when was laying there "dying". Though to be fair, he was hit hard on the head and it probably messed him up some.

I can't remember how I decided that Petra's dad would be sort of weak and henpecked by his own daughter, but in the end it works for my purposes, because I guess that's how Petra became so motherly when she grew older. He does grow a backbone when he needs to, though. I'll expand little by little on his background as time goes on.

If Petra and especially Levi felt OOC now, please don't worry – I now have a better idea than before on how I want their characters to develop. Right now, Levi's a teenager, so he's bound to be a bit more volatile and awkward than as an adult.

**Ceyrai Says: **I'm sorry this chapter was twice as long as the first and took more than a month to go online! I couldn't find a way to cut it, and everything just worked out better in Petra's perspective. I'll be putting some of Levi's thoughts on the events here in his POV chapter, too.

The next few chapters will be toothachingly fluffy domestic!Rivetra. I figured we need some of those scenes, given how much grimmer their future will be. I hope you guys are up for it.

If you feel like I missed something, please tell me so! I might be planning to explain it in the next chapters, or I may have never thought of it before – in which case, your feedback would be great. As always, constructive critique is the way to go. (Though I certainly wouldn't mind compliments. Ahaha.)

Thanks for reading this installment!


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